


Not The Time

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Demon Blood Addiction, M/M, Sam Ships It, Sick Sam, Supportive Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is suffering withdrawal from the demon blood, and Dean is doing his best to help him, but even Dean needs a little propping up sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not The Time

It isn't fair, Dean thinks, hearing Sam heaving up an empty stomach for what's got to be the fifth time that morning.

 

It's _beyond_ not fair, he adds, eyes closing in anguish at the awful, choked, retching noises Sam is spluttering out.

 

Sam's a good guy, the best of them, never done anything but try to live a good life, do the right thing; even in _their_ lives when the right thing is usually verging way past criminal. And okay, so maybe Dean’s a little biased because Sam’s his brother. But he's never willingly hurt anyone, or done anything to excesses unless he felt he absolutely needed to, to do what's _right_.

 

Which is kind of how he got himself into this mess in the first place.

 

Out of the two of them, Dean thinks again with a grimace, he always thought he'd be the one to follow their dad into addiction of some kind.

 

No one would ever have guessed that baton would be passed to Sam. Or that his poison of choice would be demon blood.

 

But it was, and here they were, with Sam going through cold turkey with such thrashing pain that Dean's sure he'll have nightmares about it indefinitely. Just to add the stockpile of ones he has already.

 

Thank god, or whatever is out there, he thinks, that Cas is there with him.

 

Cas is a calming, steady presence beside him as Dean stands watch over Sam, twitching, trying to anticipate whatever Sam might need, or reach for next.

 

He brings Dean coffee, swiftly grabbing the rapidly emptying whiskey bottle from Dean's hands with a terse look that speaks volumes Dean doesn't want to hear about, and replacing it with a large, warm mug he can wrap his fingers around.

 

He empties the bucket Sam retches into, walks with him to the bathroom when he needs it, and continues his silent vigil over both of the brothers when Dean finally succumbs to much-needed sleep.

 

Cas is also there, when Sam is screaming, crying out in the agony of his addiction and Dean is leaking silent tears of his own for all the things he can't do for him. Cas rests a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean suddenly breaks, grabbing Cas to him and sobbing wrecked into his shoulder, clinging on with a vice-like grip.

 

Cas soothes with words spoken softly into his ear, and gentle hands rubbing reassurances into his back as his arms gather him close.

 

At some point, Dean thinks he's kissed Cas, but his mind is so twisted in confusion with all that’s happening that he can't even remember if it was real, or just an unrealised fantasy. Either way, Cas resolutely stays by his side.

 

Sam is strong, and the fever, sweats and sickness reduce at a good pace, replaced by long periods of restless sleep where he twitches and trembles. Dean looks on, reminded of a thousand times he's watched over Sam protectively in sleep, and a hundred other times when he's wished there was just something he could _do_ to have this over and done with already.

 

When Sam is more lucid, Dean begins to leave him alone for short periods. Never far enough away to be out of shouting distance, but enough to give Sam what is surely much needed space.

 

Cas is still there with him, and Dean finds it aches thinking about him eventually leaving.

 

He pauses outside of Sam's bedroom one time, hearing Sam's soft laughter and a bemused, gentle mirth in Cas' low, gravelly tone, leaving Dean riveted to the spot, both curious and wanting to leave them to their conversation.

 

“Don't tell him, Cas. But I don't know how I'd have got through this without him,” he hears, and he feels a lump in his throat that he forces down.

 

“You too,” Sam adds, and from the rustling sound Dean hears he's sure Sam's reached out to pat Cas on the shoulder, or arm.

 

“Dean would not leave your side, Sam. He would, and has, valued your life above his own more times than either of us can count. And I... I am your friend, Sam. I would not wish to be anywhere but here if there was anything I could do. I admit to feeling quite helpless,” Cas finishes with a sigh, and Dean wants to walk in and wrap his arms around his shoulders, tell him how vital he's been there to him.

 

“You've been here for Dean.” Sam steals his words. “That is far from being helpless,” Dean hears Sam smile, and he closes his eyes, grateful that Sam is really smiling again.

 

“He'd be lost without you too, you know?” And Dean freezes a little at Sam's words, desperate to hear Cas' response.

 

There is a pause, but finally Cas gives a soft, breathy sigh, and answers with, “As would I without him.”

 

“You guys need to talk stuff out you know,” Sam tells him, and Dean thinks he can picture Cas shuffling in discomfort.

 

“Now is not the time, Sam. We need you to concentrate on getting better, more than anything else.” Cas' tone is decided, and firm. He's right, Dean knows, but it doesn't stop his heart sinking a little.

 

“Cas,” Sam's talking in that gentle, patient, _explaining-to-an-idiot_ tone he has, and Dean kind of loves him for it. “If you think about it like that, there's never gonna be a 'right time'. So why not make it the right time _now_?”

 

Dean doesn't want to hear Cas' answer, so chooses that moment to go in with the tray of food he's prepared.

 

But it's not like Sam's words don't play over and over for Dean, right into the night to keep any chance of sleep far away from him.

 

When he's sure sleep is just not going to be happening for him he gets up, sighing heavily, and pads through the night-quiet bunker in search of something to do.

 

Cas is sat, face illuminated by the screen of Sam's laptop, and his eyes raise at the sound of Dean's arrival.

 

“Can't sleep,” Dean offers in answer to Cas' silent question, “What are you reading?”

 

Cas pauses, then reaches over to flick on a lamp on the table and silently closes the laptop lid.

 

“Nothing of interest,” he says, standing to lean back against the table, hands drumming along the edge, watching Dean.

 

Dean watches back.

 

The silence remains heavy, loaded with unspoken questions.

 

And Dean steps forward.

 

He bends slightly to cup Cas' face and tilt it up, leaning down into a kiss that feels very, very long overdue. Cas' hands are immediately around his waist, gripping Dean as he adjusts the way he stands between his legs.

 

The silence continues, but in place of questions is a steadying feeling of _resolved_.

 

When Sam walks through in the morning, rubbing a tired hand down his face and his hair standing in all directions on end, he pauses, head tilting to one side.

 

On the long, battered sofa lays Cas on his back, with Dean tangled between his legs and in his arms, fast asleep in the crook of Cas' neck.

 

Cas looks at Sam, and Sam looks on back at Cas, and where Cas' smile is small and a little shy, Sam's is wide, and beaming happiness.

 

They nod at each other, tiny, and only once in unspoken acceptance of the change in circumstances between them, before Sam turns and heads into the kitchen.

 

He rinses out the cafetiere, measuring out a generous amount of coffee.

 

He pulls down two mugs from a shelf, leans over to fill the kettle then turns back, slipping his fingers through the handles on each of the mugs. And with a smile, pulls down a third.

 


End file.
